She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. And for me there is only one treasure-house. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. He winced from the wasp-like sting. God had never answered any of her prayers. He drew her closer.
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